


He just killed them...

by notthehighkingedmund



Category: Misfits (TV 2009)
Genre: Emetophobia, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts, Mentions of Therapy, Mentions of medication, Mentions of suicide attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-09-26 11:46:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9895151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notthehighkingedmund/pseuds/notthehighkingedmund
Summary: What happened at the community centre in the timeline where Curtis was never arrested.





	1. Accidental Survival

“No don’t! He’ll kill us all!”  


That was the last thing he heard her say, before he was pushing her aside to open the door - a harsh snort erupting from his nose, clearly mocking her fear. And then a huge piece of metal was smacking into her head with a wet thunk, and Kelly - the chavvy one - was hitting the floor.  
Bleeding.  


It didn’t take long for instincts to kick in. For Nathan to be screaming with the other two and tripping over the wheelchair to get away from the manic probation worker that was fucking snarling as he gave chase.  
How the fuck had he gotten that metal? It looked like a brace or some shit to hold up a fence - but Nathan wasn’t exactly a master builder even when he wasn’t being hunted by a mad man, so he didn’t have a clue. Nor did he want to stick around to find out.  


Suddenly his feet were flying out from under him, and he hit the floor with a disgusting slap. Since when was it wet?! And red.  
If adrenaline hadn’t been forcing Nathan to his feet and to the door, he’d have been sick. It was bad enough watching Kelly get fucked up, but to now be wearing someone’s blood? No, he really didn’t need to think about that when there was escaping that needed to be done.  


Fighting Alisha (was that her name?) to get the door open only allowed the pair to bear witness to the sight of the weird kid being slammed into a locker.  
Really slammed.  
It was like watching a car crash - only no cars were involved - all slow and excruciatingly detailed as the guy’s neck snapped. Nathan was reminded of all the times he’d stretched and his back had sounded like bubble wrap, only louder. And much crunchier.  
Bile rose in his throat as he turned away from the limp headed guy and shoved the door open - he faintly registered the sound of a body hitting the floor, and his brain decided to gift him with the image of a completely crumpled up Barry. At least, he thought his name was Barry…  


Despite not being the most athletic of people, Nathan was running as fast as he could, which was actually putting some distance between him and the probation worker.  
“HELP! OUR PROBATION WORKER’S GONE MENTAL!”  
Sod’s law was that no one was around to even notice the screaming - it was a shitty community centre that wasn’t being used for anything that day. No one had any reason to be nearby.  


A screech had him slowing down enough to turn and look. Instantly, he regretted turning back, as he watched a struggling (and sobbing) Alisha get the fencing - Nathan was convinced that was what the metal bit was - unceremoniously shoved into her neck. Had he not turned, he would have seen the slanted slab of cement, and Nathan would have kept running.  


Pain radiated through his skull as it whacked the ground - a string of curses following his shout - surely he was done for. Alisha hadn’t been that far behind him when she’d gone down…  
And sure enough, there was the bastard - all freaky eyed and acting like he was some wild animal in a David Attenborough documentary - just standing over him.  
Hundreds of quips, comments and several dirty jokes popped into his mind, but he couldn’t make his mouth work. It was betraying him, rendering him unable to do more than squeak as he tried to shuffle away.  


The fist that crashed into his face put a stop to all squeaking and shuffling. There were more fists - some kicking - and then eventually a piercing pain that just ripped through his stomach, turning his whole body cold and clammy.  
That was the first time Nathan passed out.  


He didn’t know how long he’d been out for, but when he came to there was definitely something sharp and metal just sticking out of him. Panicking, he tried to move, which only increased the pain - causing him to cry out.  
“Fuck, fuck, fucking fucker!”  
A hand was on his face - his own, he thought. There was blood, bruising - swelling… He didn’t know when he’d started crying, but the tears were there, mixing with the blood and wetting his fingers.  
Nathan forced himself to take in his environment - anything to keep awake - which is when he caught sight of Alisha.  


Her blood had pooled at his feet, and he realised her head was hardly attached to her body any more. He promptly turned his head to the side to throw up the bile that had settled for staying in his throat that entire time, before blacking out once more.

He didn’t wake up again until he was in a hospital room. It was too bright - too clean, too everything. It made his head throb.  
Wanting to leave, Nathan pushed with his arms to sit up - the movement making his head spin and increase the throbbing. Groaning, he reluctantly flopped back down on the bed and hoped that he’d stop waking up.


	2. The Lucky One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What life was like for Nathan in the aftermath.

Therapy. One thing Nathan had vowed to never go to, and he was going twice a week because of his damn nightmares.  
Mum had let him move back home as soon as he'd been discharged from the hospital, even Jeremy was making an effort to be less of an annoying twat.  
That only made him more annoying.

His therapist said that was just misguided anger, and that Nathan didn't really find Jeremy more annoying than usual, he just happened to be a good target for the anger he felt about everything.  
Nathan thought that was utter bollocks and told her so.

He had a new therapist within a week of that, after he'd thrown a lamp at her...  
Then the medication followed - not the stuff for the pain, but for his head. His 'loony pills' as he'd taken to calling them.  
His mum had decided she would be in charge of the medicine he took, not trusting him to take it or not take too much.

Even Nathan had to admit she was right about it being safer that way.  
A second trip to the hospital had proven that much.

He said much less to the new therapist, choosing to sit mostly in silence or just insult the man if he could come up with anything. It was harder to come up with insults nowadays...  
It was harder to do anything the way he'd done it before.

The only good thing to come from it was Nathan was no longer on community service - verdict being that almost dying and watching three other people die was punishment enough. He suspected it was also because there wasn't another community centre near enough to justify him switching, and no one wanted him to freak out on them.

No one knew he visited every day. Some times, if he'd been given money for whatever reason, he even bought flowers and set them by a random picture. Nathan never went knowing who the flowers would be for - he'd put them wherever the least amount of stuff was. Then he'd just stare, at the building, at the smiling faces he'd only seen a couple times but would never get out of his head.

He'd stare at the pavement, the slight discolouration showing him exactly where she'd died. Where he'd almost died. They'd been left too long for the cement to be without stains.  
That always made him want to puke, so his attention always shifted back to the memorials.

Part of him wondered if he'd have had one. If anyone would have even put a single petal down to remember him, and if they did would they have actually cared? Before that day no one was willing to let him crash at their house for a few days, but now they were sickeningly nice. Would his memorial have been made out of guilt and feelings of necessity, as opposed to genuine grief?

Some times he'd get there when someone else was there, either paying their respects or being nosy. Almost all of them that worked it out would make it their right to pat his shoulder and say some bullshit about praying for his recovery, or that they were sorry he had to live through that. One little girl had asked if he'd been friends with her brother.  
The weird kid.  
He said yes, because he didn't want to make her cry any more than she already was.  
Names that had once not mattered to him now stuck in his memory like a fly in a spider web.  
Simon. He'd gotten it wrong when watching the guy get killed.  
So he apologised.

It was a routine that he'd gotten into. Every day at 2pm, he went to the centre to look at the building and contemplate everything. Some times he'd be alone, and he often used that time to hurl the heaviest object he could find into a window, or kick a bench or anything to release his pent up aggression.  
This time he wasn't alone.

Some random dude was staring at the pictures as if they were nudes of his mother or something - seriously freaked out.  
He was being stared at, which he was used to. The stitches on his face were enough to draw attention if they didn't know who he was. Most didn't know, some would guess. Most just ignored him though.

"It's you."

"What? Do I know you?" It came out softer than it would have in the past. Less annoyed, more curious.

"No... I thought you were someone else."

Frowning, Nathan decided to take that as a victory - not a guy there to bother him then.  
Until the stranger was asking what happened. He should have known - tourist or not from the area - nosy.  
It was easier to tell the story now, irritatingly therapy had actually done its job and helped him not want to throw up every time he talked about it.

That didn't mean he spoke about it often though. It was never painless.  
He still hated to think about it.

"How come you survived?"

A question that always haunted him in the back of his mind. Why him? Why not any of the others? If one were to do a survey based on how many people liked them all, Nathan was sure to be in last place.  
So why was he the only one left standing?

"... They said I was half dead when they found me..."  
A beat.  
"Guess I'm just lucky..." 

That's what they expected him to say. To think.  
So he said it.  
There he stood, still able to smell the coppery scent of blood, hear the screams and the sick thuds and cracks.  
Still expecting the probation worker to round the corner and do it all over again.

But sure, he was the lucky one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't going to continue this, but I suddenly got inspired to delve into Nathan's life trying to move past the trauma and how it affected him. So ta-dah! New chapter!


End file.
